


Whumptober 2020 - 10 - Work of Art

by Celticgal1041



Series: Whumptober 2020 [10]
Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Bleeding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Thomas, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticgal1041/pseuds/Celticgal1041
Summary: “You just get really tired and then fall asleep, but through my work, you’ll be immortalized forever.”
Series: Whumptober 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949548
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Whumptober 2020 - 10 - Work of Art

“Your blood is very easy to work with.”

Magnum rolled his eyes at the comment, having no clue what the appropriate response was in his current situation. “Thanks, I think,” he muttered softly, doing his best not to anger his captor.

“No, really,” the woman gushed as she spread more of the vibrant color across the canvas before her. “I think it all comes down to diet.”

Thomas had no idea how to respond, so he opted to remain quiet, which did nothing to deter the crazy woman – Molly, he reminded himself.

“People who don’t take care of themselves can’t expect their insides to be filled with clean lubricant, I always say.” She paused and giggled at her statement, throwing Magnum a coy look. “I mean blood, of course.” At his minor nod, she continued. “I know science would disagree with me, but I’ve seen it for myself. There’s differences in the thickness, how well it mixes with the pigments I use….”

Thomas tuned out as the woman droned on, his mind becoming easily distracted as the blood was systematically drawn from his body. He pulled half-heartedly on the straps that held his arms pinned to the table at his sides, but they were of medical-grade quality, and the only thing he managed to do was to further abrade the skin around his wrists.

He tested the bindings around his ankles in a similar fashion, only to come to the same conclusion – unless someone released him, he was well and truly stuck. Letting his head loll lazily to one side, his eyes focused on the clear plastic tubing that ran from his elbow to deposit his blood in a large, enclosed basin on the floor. From this angle, he couldn’t tell how full it was, but based on how lightheaded and chilled he felt, he figured he was down at least several pints.

_The human body contains approximately 10.5 pints of blood or the equivalent of 5 litres._ His mind helpfully supplied the piece of information he’d acquired at some point during his life, prompting him to wonder how much he could actually stand to lose before he’d reached the point of no return.

He’d seen men die of hypovolemic shock before, but their extreme blood loss had been obvious, the ground surrounding them practically saturated with the red stuff. _Hypovolemic shock occurs when a body loses more than 20 percent of its blood volume._ He’d learned that after having been stunned to hear of a fellow soldier’s death, despite the man having been rescued and brought back to base for medical care. No matter what the doctors did, it had been too late to replace the lost blood and he’d ultimately died of organ failure.

Ugh, what a way to go. Why couldn’t his death have been clean and simple? An unexpected bullet while performing some heroic task; a heart attack while out enjoying the ocean that he loved; or how about just some bad sushi. He snorted at the last one and chuckled out loud, interrupting his kidnapper’s explanation.

“Thomas, have you been listening?” Molly asked, setting her palette and brush down to stand at his side. Her brow furrowed at what she saw, and her hands moved to stop the flow of red from his arm. “I think that’s quite enough for now; wouldn’t want you to expire too quickly.” Her last words were accompanied by a huge smile, and she squeezed his upper arm before checking her watch.

“Oh, look at the time,” she remarked, reaching for a rag that she used to wipe her hands. “I have some things to take care of, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t go anywhere hon!” Magnum watched her sashay from the room, breathing a sigh of relief once she was gone.

Now that he was alone, he wondered exactly how bad he looked that Molly had decided to cut her bloodletting session short. Turning his attention inwards, he took a few minutes to take stock. He could feel a fine sheen of sweat on his body and felt unnaturally chilled, despite the room relying solely on two open windows to cool it down. His limbs felt heavy and weak, and even if he wasn’t tied down, he wasn’t one hundred percent certain he’d be able to move without help.

His mouth and throat were almost painfully dry, and he tried unsuccessfully to recall when he’d last had something to drink. Worst of all was the persistent dizziness and nausea, which continued to plague him even when he was lying completely still. Groaning lowly, he allowed himself several minutes to feel completely miserable and sorry for himself. When those minutes had passed, he forced himself to focus, having a short window of time to attempt an escape.

“What now, Thomas,” he muttered out loud, wishing his mind was clearer. “Death by painter is not a good epitaph,” he went on as he once more tugged his arms in an effort to free himself.

He stopped after only a minute, already feeling oddly out of breath at the minor exertion. “You’re gonna die here if you don’t get loose,” he chastised himself, ignoring the breathless sound of his voice.

Lifting his head, he looked down at his body, noting again the thick canvas straps that held him in place. Next, his eyes shifted upwards, pausing for a moment to look at the needle inserted in the crook of his arm. Flopping back down, he took a minute to catch his breath.

‘This is gonna suck,’ he thought to himself, before once again raising his upper body, but this time leaning towards his right side. Straining, he pulled himself forward as much as possible, trying to reach the needle with his teeth. No matter how hard he tried, it was just out of reach, and he fell back feeling exhausted and dizzy.

Needing another break, he waited for his heartrate to slow, feeling like he couldn’t catch his breath no matter how deeply he inhaled. Vaguely, he identified his symptoms as additional warning signs, but didn’t afford himself the luxury of waiting too long before trying again. After his third failed attempt, his brain finally kicked in, helpfully pointing out that he needed some additional give in the restraint so he could shift his arm closer.

“Arrgh,” he groaned out loud. He began to pull and push at the strap around his right wrist, putting as much of his waning strength into the effort as possible. He continued on when his breathing became strained, and still persisted when he felt the telltale dampness of broken skin, figuring the extra blood would at least help lubricate his efforts. ‘Lubricate,’ he thought as he snorted out loud, his brain reminding him of Molly’s earlier words.

“’S not funny,” he huffed breathlessly, as he closed his eyes and pulled again.

He lost track of time as he continued to struggle against, pushing and pulling against the rough fabric until running out of strength. “Crap,” he gasped out as he allowed the limb to fall limp. His arm muscles burned with exertion and the skin around his wrist stung fiercely, but he was no closer to freeing himself than when he’d begun.

“Crap,” he wheezed again, glaring at the restraint momentarily before letting his head drop wearily back to the table to which he was secured. His vision was tunneling dangerously, and his stomach churned, warning him that he’d exceeded his body’s resources. Pressing his lips and eyes tightly closed, he thought to himself, ‘Don’t throw up, don’t throw up.’ He repeated the mantra over and over again until his mind simply lost focus and shut down, releasing him from the discomfort of his current situation into the welcoming embrace of unconsciousness.

* * *

“Who is this woman again?” TC asked, trying to understand exactly what had happened.

Higgins offered a somewhat impatient glare as she explained once more. “Rebecca Anderson, our latest client. Or, rather, Thomas’ latest client. I’ve been busy with another case, so we agreed to divide and conquer,” she clarified. “Ms. Anderson claimed she’d lost a priceless family heirloom and has been monopolizing Magnum’s time for the last three days. He didn’t even come home yesterday,” she finished, exasperation clear in her body language and tone.

“That seems out of character,” Rick mused as he scrubbed one hand through his hair. “Did he call you, at least?”

Higgins’ unimpressed expression flared again, Rick and TC sharing a knowing glance at the fact that they’d unintentionally aggravated the woman even further. Drawing a steadying breath, Juliet replied, “Do you honestly believe I’d be asking for your help if Magnum had stayed in touch and let me know where he is?”

The men’s features turned contrite, finally appreciating the source of Juliet’s annoyance. “Where was he yesterday?” Calvin asked, looking for some starting point for their search.

“He’d agreed to meet Ms. Anderson at her home, but when I checked the address she’d given us, the house was empty, and there was a for sale sign on the lawn.”

“Okay,” Rick started, drawing the word out a little. “That the house is being sold doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

Placing her hands on her hips, Juliet countered, “And what about the fact that it was completely vacant? No furniture at all.”

“That’s a bit odd. Is it possible they met somewhere else?” Rick probed.

“Anything is possible, but when I contacted the realtor, they’d never heard of Rebecca Anderson,” Higgins explained.

“I assume you’ve tried tracking Thomas’ phone and the Ferrari,” TC asked, certain the former MI-6 agent would have already traced both, but needing confirmation, which Juliet’s nod provided.

“I’ll grant you that it’s kind of unusual for Tommy to fall off the grid like this, but it also wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it,” Rick supplied, his gaze shifting to TC who was nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, he can lose track of normal things like checking in, eating and sleeping when he catches wind of something big,” Calvin added.

“If it was so big, why didn’t he contact me for help with the investigation,” Higgins countered, her expression having morphed to concern.

Neither man had an answer, so they remained silent. When several seconds had passed, Rick spoke up. “So, we have no idea where Magnum could be, and nothing on his phone or car right?” Two matching nods met his query. “Then let’s start with the client; what do we know about her?”

Juliet moved in behind her desk, adjusting the lid of her laptop slightly so she could view it from her standing position. “Not a great deal,” she began. “Rebecca Anderson is supposedly a receptionist for a small accounting firm in Chicago. From what I could find of her history, she’s moved around a fair bit in the last five years. Before that time, Ms. Anderson was a virtual non-entity, with no information available on her family or origin.”

“Okay, that’s definitely odd,” Rick stated.

Higgins offered a slight shrug in reply. “It could be something, or nothing at all; she certainly wouldn’t be the first person to change their identity in search of a fresh start. Unfortunately, I don’t have access to the database that would allow me to find the name she went by before her current one.”

“Is there a local address for Anderson?” TC asked.

“Nothing useful,” Juliet replied. “She’s listed the front desk of the Aqua Aloha Surf Hotel for her mail, but when I called the hotel, they didn’t have anyone by her name registered.”

“Why do I suddenly feel like we’re about to go down the rabbit hole to the Mad Hatter’s tea party?” Rick muttered, only partially joking.

“Maybe Katsumoto can help…” TC began, interrupted by the ringing of Higgin’s cell phone.

“Speak of the devil,” she said softly, before answering the call. “Detective, I’m here with Rick and TC. What can we do for you?”

“Is Magnum with you?” Katsumoto asked, not even bothering with any pleasantries.

“No,” Rick replied, the detective’s tone making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Why?”

A moment of silence passed before Gordon answered. “A patrol car spotted the Ferrari in a lot behind an abandoned warehouse. The officer was curious enough to pull in and have a look for the owner, but the place was completely deserted. Since there’s only one red Ferrari with the licence ‘Robin 2’, he knew who it belonged to and came to me to see if I wanted to break the news to the estate’s scary majordomo.”

Higgins’ face clouded for a moment at hearing the description before her attention was drawn back to the conversation that was taking place. “…pull the last locations off the GPS and I’m going to check them out now,” Katsumoto finished, making Juliet flinched when she realized she’d missed part of what he’d said.

“Text the list to us along with the address of the Ferrari,” Rick ordered. “I’ll have one of my guys pick it and bring it back here, and TC and I will meet you at the first address.”

“The three of us will meet you there, detective,” Higgins corrected, making it clear she’d be coming along for the ride.

“I can’t wait to see what trouble he’s managed to find this time,” TC said as he led the way out to their cars.

* * *

The sound of something heavy striking the ground startled Magnum from his fugue state. He’d been drifting between unconsciousness and partial awareness for hours now it seemed, although he really couldn’t be certain how much time had passed since his captor had departed. Now, the loud bang had his eyes popping open, while his heart hammered wildly in his chest, straining with the effort of pumping his significantly reduced blood volume.

He gasped in a deeper breath, hating the feeling of light-headedness that always accompanied blood loss. His heart was still racing, but he was slowly gaining the upper hand, until it no longer felt like it might beat its way free from his chest.

Just as he managed to move from panic to a heightened state of awareness – or as aware as one could be after losing so much blood – he saw his tormentor enter the room, setting off another round of too quick, shallow breaths as a new dump of adrenaline was released into his system. He closed his eyes and groaned miserably at the sensation as he was attacked by a new round of vertigo.

“Feeling poorly, are we?” Molly asked, causing Thomas to startle anew at the woman’s closeness. With a look that might have been concern, she used a hand to push his sweaty hair away from his forehead, leaving it sticking up in all different directions. “You’ll feel better soon, I promise,” she said as she turned the switch that controlled the flow of Magnum’s blood from his body.

Feeling heavy and with absolutely no energy to move, Thomas let his head loll to one side so he could watch the insane artist as she picked up her tools. “It’s not a bad way to go, you know,” she chatted as she put brush to canvas. “You just get really tired and then fall asleep, but through my work, you’ll be immortalized forever.”

She paused and turned to smile at him. “How many people can say that when they’re facing death?” When Thomas didn’t respond, Molly gave a small shrug and turned back to her work.

Thomas shuddered, a chill suddenly crawling up his spine, although he wasn’t sure if it was due to blood loss or the woman’s words. He clenched his fists as tightly as he was able, ignoring the weakness in his muscles as he tried to get his shivering under control, but to no avail. His trembling muscles were no longer under his control, and he moaned softly as his chest grew tight and his breathing more laboured.

He must have drifted again, unaware that his consciousness was fading in and out as his body began shutting down. In a way, it was peaceful, and he was grateful that his death would be relatively painless – physically, at least. Emotionally, he was wracked with guilt that he’d never see his friends again; that there would remain things unsaid between them, even though he’d promised himself after his mother’s passing that he would always let those he cared for know exactly how he felt.

With that opportunity suddenly and irrevocably stolen from him, all he could hope for now is that his body would at some point be found. Hhe couldn’t bear the idea that his friends might be left looking for him and forever wondering where he was; whether he was still even alive. They deserved closure and the opportunity to grieve that he knew would only come from the discovery of his body.

“No!” A voice suddenly shrieked, pulling Thomas once more to awareness, but this time more reluctantly than before. The darkness that had begun to settle had been welcome, shielding him from the desperation of his reality, and embracing him in its cloying embrace. With tremendous effort, he slitted open his eyes, catching sight of a blurry figure approaching him. “Wha?” he managed to croak before his voice was cut off by a flare of pain near the centre of his chest.

He was too far gone to even react, his adrenaline exhausted and strength utterly gone. As the sounds around him continued to grow, he let himself slip away, too tired to deal with anything else linked to the mortal world.

* * *

“How much longer before he wakes up?” Rick asked, nervously chewing at his thumb as he willed the injured man to awaken.

“You heard the doc,” TC replied. “When he’s good and ready.”

Higgins huffed in response, seeking refuge in sarcasm as she often did when feeling stressed. “Given his natural laziness, we may be waiting a while.”

Rick and TC managed faint smiles, which faded almost immediately as their gazes once again landed on the man in the hospital bed. Magnum was pale; not quite as pale as he had been when they’d found him, but still too far from his natural color to appear anything other than very ill. Adding to his poor appearance was the wad of bandaging near the middle of the chest, hiding an ugly stab wound that had been repaired once the doctors in the emergency room had stabilized their friend.

“Who knew artists could be so dangerous,” Rick muttered, shaking his head, as he recalled the nausea-inducing moment when he’d seen the handle of a palette knife sticking from Thomas’ chest.

Molly Timmins, aka Rebecca Anderson, had been at first outraged and then disconsolate, completely incapable of understanding why anyone would want to ‘save’ Magnum from the gift she’d bestowed upon him. _“I’ve turned him into a work of art!”_ she’d shrieked as she struggled like a wildcat in the officers’ grips after stabbing the poor P.I. 

Horror wasn’t a strong enough word for what the others had felt when they realized Thomas had been restrained and methodically exsanguinated. For close to three days, he’d been in the hands of a monster, enduring the dual sensations of growing steadily weaker and more ill with each drop of blood he lost. It was almost enough to make them all lose their last meals.

Now that horror had turned to impatient worry, as one day and then another passed with no signs of wakefulness from their friend. “Maybe we should just try to wake him,” Rick suggested, his body tense with too much caffeine, too little sleep, and more stress than anyone should have to deal with. Abruptly, he launched himself across the room to Magnum’s bedside, unable to wait for the man any longer.

“Orville,” TC’s stern voice cut through the room, stopping the man’s hand from settling on Thomas’ shoulder to shake him awake. Stepping closer, the pilot gripped Rick’s upper arm, squeezing gently as he softened his voice and said, “We’re worried about him, too, but waking him before he’s ready is just as likely to do more harm than good at this point.” He left his hand where it was until Wright offered a jerky nod in response.

Satisfied that he’d gotten through to the man, TC released his hold and stepped back, his weary body wanting nothing more than to flop in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs. Before he could sit down, Rick was announcing excitedly, “I think he’s awake.” Certain the man was mistaken, TC reversed course to stand next to Wright once more.

“See, he twitched his fingers,” Rick said, his expectant gaze fixed on Magnum as he waited for additional signs of awareness.

“The doctor said he might show signs of involuntary movement…” Juliet began, cutting her statement short at the glare she received from Wright.

“This was different,” Rick countered, returning his gaze to their friend.

“I think he’s right,” TC interjected as he rested his hand carefully on Magnum’s lower leg, giving a gentle but firm squeeze to see if his touch garnered any further reaction.

Several long seconds passed before Thomas drew a deeper breath, drawing heavily on the oxygen cannula beneath his nose. Moments later, his eyes fluttered open, and he blinked sluggishly as he tried to bring his blurred vision into focus. “Rick? TC?” The men’s names were barely above a whisper, but in that moment, there was nothing that could have sounded sweeter to their ears.

“Welcome back, man,” Rick replied, his voice just as low, but his huge grin apparent in his tone.

Magnum’s eyes rolled for a moment, making it apparent he was still more asleep than awake, but making a concerted effort to remain conscious. “Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he breathed out.

Rick and TC blanched at their friend’s words, but didn’t let their discomfort show in their expressions. “Yeah, well, you need to work harder if you’re trying to shake us off,” TC teased, inserting a moment of levity into their conversation.

Magnum’s lips twitched in reply, his hand moving towards Rick’s. Seeing the P.I.’s uncoordinated movements, Wright grasped Thomas’ hand in his, automatically giving it a squeeze. “Gonna have a long talk once I can stay awake for it,” Magnum stated with a serious expression.

Although they were confused by the odd demand, Rick nodded TC replied, “Anything you want, brother.”

Magnum gave a tired nod of his own, his fingers growing lax in Rick’s hold as his eyes closed. His last thought as sleep pulled him under was that he’d never leave anything unsaid again.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to AZGirl for proofing; all remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> This story was based on the day 10 prompt: They look so pretty when they bleed: blood loss / internal bleeding / trail of blood
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts if you're so inclined!


End file.
